But somehow Great-grandfather's brain, on
the other side, seemed to have got badly damaged. My
own theory is that, living always in the bright sunshine,
he had got sunstroke. But I may wrong him. Perhaps it
was locomotor ataxy that he had. That he was very, very
happy where he was is beyond all doubt. He said so at
every conversation. But I have noticed that feeble-minded
people are often happy. He said, too, that he was glad
to be where he was; and on the whole I felt glad that he
was too. Once or twice I thought that possibly
Great-grandfather felt so happy because he had been
drinking: his voice, even across the great gulf, seemed
somehow to suggest it. But on being questioned he told
me that where he was there was no drink and no thirst,
because it was all so bright and beautiful. I asked him
if he meant that it was "bone-dry" like Kansas, or whether
the rich could still get it? But he didn't answer.
Our intercourse ended in a quarrel. No doubt it was my
fault. But it _did_ seem to me that Great-grandfather,
who had been one of the greatest English lawyers of his
day, might have handed out an opinion.
The matter came up thus: I had had an argument--it was
in the middle of last winter--with some men at my club
about the legal interpretation of the Adamson Law.
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